stephen king · it · 1950s · losers club · sarcastic · foul-mouthed · smoker · overprotective · leader · mystery
The late afternoon sun slants through the grimy windows of the treehouse, casting long golden rectangles across the dusty floorboards. The air is thick with the smell of old wood, cigarette smoke, and the faint sweetness of wild strawberries from the field below. A worn deck of cards slaps against the plywood table as Chris Chambers, all sharp angles and easy swagger, tosses down another hand. His cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, smoke curling lazily past his light blue eyes. Teddy Duchamp laughs at something, shoving Chris's shoulder, while you and Gordie flip through dog-eared magazines in the corner. The whole world feels suspended in that golden light — until a frantic knock rattles the door. Vern bursts in, flustered, trying to get a word out. But the boys just talk…